


well fuck me gently with celestial bronze

by orphan_account



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, How Do I Tag, go easy on me lmao, ill tag later probably, oh boy, this is my first other fic so, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: yet another supernatural heathers au because apparently this is the only thing my brain will let me writeVeronica's been looking for years- Sherwood's mist is a pain in the ass when your job is to look through it.The Heathers were the last people she suspected.why did i do thisim sorry





	well fuck me gently with celestial bronze

**Author's Note:**

> for all yall here from my account and not exploring uh
> 
> i'll get back to posting the usual story next week as normal
> 
> for yall new people
> 
> hi! im frog,, and i cant write and also am obsessed with heathers
> 
> help

Veronica wrung out her hands, stiff and sore from all the writing in the pop quiz that the new teacher, Ms. Fleming, had just sprung on them, despite it only being the first day of senior year. She laid her head on her binder and let her eyes trail across the ceiling, dragging on every square panel before slipping to the next. The bored stupor only shattered at the awful screeching sound of the school bell signalling the end of class and the start of passing period.

Yawning, she walked over to the restroom, clicking the lock behind her as she stepped into the stall. A jolt ran through her body as she heard the sound of vicious retching and the sharp, all too recognizable tone of the head Heather of the school.

“God, Heather, Bulimia is _so_ 87’” her voice rings through the room, and Veronica freezes in place, peeking through the door slit at the bright coloured jackets of the red and yellow Heathers, Chandler and… Mara? Mac? _Mac, yeah, that sounds right._ Doesn’t matter_._ She shakes her head and flinches as the sound of partially-digested food hits the porcelain again.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather.”

“Yeah, Heather, maybe I should.”

“Ah, Heather and Heather.” Ms. Fleming’s voice cut through the sound of vomit, and Veronica could see she didn't seem to have the decency to flinch at the noise. “And Heather. Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting. You’re late to class.”

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her.” Veronica froze, eyes widening. She recognized that- the thick magic weaving through her words, coating them in silver and sugar, the persuasive tone making her want to do whatever the steely-eyed girl commanded- charmspeak.

“Not without a hall pass, you’re not.” Even worse than the realization of the charm was Fleming’s refusal- no mortal, no matter how unbelievably thorough Ohio’s mist was- should be able to stop themselves from being charmspoken.

Veronica hastily scrambled to grab her bag, pulling out a slip and quickly scribbling an excuse.

“Actually, Ms. Fleming,” she stuttered, “all four of us are out on a hall pass. Yearbook… committee.”

The teacher scanned the note, sourly frowning slightly as she examined it and found it up to her standards. She turned and began to exit, before stopping in place, taking a deep sniff and facing the four girls.

“Well actually,” she began in a mocking tone, “How about you, little goat, stop trying to lie to me and let me have these godlings.”

“Goat? Godlings? What the hell, Phlegm?” Chandler sneered, though she was clearly spooked by the sudden change in the woman’s mood.

Ms. Fleming let out a cruel cackle as her form flickered, and Veronica could sense the Heathers' fear radiating off them in waves- how did she not notice them before? They’re clearly demigods- and she pulled a celestial bronze dagger from her pack and got in a stance to fight the monster.

The old teacher’s soft footsteps toward the group faded into the clicking of hoof and metal on tile, her legs becoming more clearly monstrous, becoming a mismatched pair of a donkey’s leg and a copper-bronze metal one. As the mist around her face began to dissipate, long fangs and curling ram’s horns becoming visible as well.

_An empousa!_ Veronica chided herself for not noticing the smell before and lunged forward with the dagger, slashing at their throat, blocked by an arm, a flurry of blows exchanging between the two, bruises forming on Veronica’s stomach, cheek, arm, leg, wherever the creature could hit her. Luckily managing to dodge another blow, Veronica slid to Fleming’s side, slicing her wrist, lopping off a hand which dissolved into golden dust before it hit the ground with a poof.

Raging hisses escaped from between her ivory fangs and she leaped toward Veronica, twisting the dagger out of her hand onto the disgusting floor of the bathroom. Veronica’s brow furrowed, planning steps to reclaim it, but- _SLAM!_ Another fist forced all the wind out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for air. She grabbed Fleming’s neck, kneeing her in the gut and forcefully shoving her onto the floor. Fleming grabbed her sides and flipped them, slamming Veronica against the wall and-

The grip loosened, turning into shimmering sand as Veronica saw one very pissed Heather- _Duke_ was the name that came to mind- standing in front of her, gripping the dagger.

“You have a lot to explain, loser.” she threatened, pointing the blade at Veronica’s chest.

“Back off, Heather.” Chandler waved her away gently and grabbed Veronica's chin, brushing away her hair and sizing her up. “Hmm. For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure.” The air was thick with unwitting charms, and it smelled like cherry and roses.

The yellow Heather- Mac- held her shoulder and murmured, “And a symmetrical face! If I took a meat cleaver down the centre of your skull, I’d have matching halves,” she froze under Chandler’s raised eyebrow, hunched her shoulders and backed away with a quiet “That’s very important.”

“‘Course you could stand to lose a few pounds.” Duke huffed, crossing her arms with blade still in hand.

“Great, we agree. Welcome to the Heathers, loser. Now explain yourself.” Chandler smirked.


End file.
